


Getting to Know You (Isn't Quite Like I Expected It to Be)

by arrowinthesky (restfulsky5)



Series: Chasing Stars [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Starfleet Academy, Angst, Eating Disorder, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Sleepwalking, Starfleet Academy, Tarsus IV, single dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 03:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restfulsky5/pseuds/arrowinthesky
Summary: Old habits die hard. It's even harder to keep them a secret.Tarsus IV.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago and instead of hoarding it and waiting until I have time to develop it into a story, I've decided to share it. I do intend to write more than this for this series, but my goal is to finish one or two of my other WIPs first. Hopefully this suffices for now. :D I'm anxious to write more for this, believe me. I'll do my best to get back to it soon! 
> 
> Thank you, diamondblue4, for looking over this months ago! :)
> 
> Caution: triggery material ahead. Rating is for that and language.
> 
> This one shot occurs roughly two or three weeks after Scatter Me.

 

_Feed them_

_He had to feed them_

 

Jim breathed raggedly in the silence of his apartment, squinting at the screen that was lit up like a beacon before him.

 

He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. It shook. A weakness he knew well, usually coming whenever he was trying to decide what to eat. Or waited too long to eat. Or ate too much. Literally, whenever it had to do with food in general.

 

_Feed them_

 

He clenched his hand into a fist but the blinking button on the screen was more like a siren, calling out to him in a sultry, convincing voice. He tried to wait before answering it, tried to determine why his head felt so thick, but it was as if his hand had its own fucking mind. It reached out, unsteady fingers pointed straight towards the luring light.

 

His heart pounded heavily in his ears, a steady thrumming as he considered pressing the button. He wanted to press the button, but he was suddenly confused.

 

What was he even doing?

 

Where was he?

 

He glanced around furtively, embarrassed to find that he was in the kitchen in nothing but his boxers, his protruding stomach a grotesque shadow on the wall. Had anyone seen him?

 

He looked around for a second time, suddenly remembering. David was fast asleep in bed and Leonard working his shift at the hospital.

 

_Feed them_

 

He had no recollection of even slipping out of his bed. No memory of coming out to the kitchen.

 

He looked down at himself, swallowing harshly. He had no memory of even ordering the food that he carried in his other hand, either.

 

He licked his lips, tasting a variety of flavors on the cracked skin. Cheese. Something spicey, like sauce. Watermelon. More fruit. Maybe mango. But then...chocolate.

 

Chocolate. He raised his hand, licking the rest of the chocolate right off the plate. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste.

 

But only for a moment.

 

His eyes shot open.

 

Had he been sleepwalking again? Did he even care?

 

He had to have been sleepwalking.

 

Fucking shit—just when he’d gained a new roommate. Just when he thought he’d moved beyond it…it had come back to destroy his progress.

 

He’d promised himself he would stop. For David he’d stop. This...this wasn't stopping.

 

The blinking light mocked him as if it had read his mind, morphing into an endless sea of pale, emaciated faces with haunted eyes staring back at him.

 

_Feed them_

 

He sucked in a breath. Sleepwalking or not, he’d come here for a purpose. That he held food in his hands, with traces of food on his mouth...that meant something.

 

What had Katya said she liked on a hot summer afternoon? Fried chicken?

 

Yes. That was it.

 

_Feed them_

 

He pushed the button another time. “Computer,” he whispered hoarsely. “Two pieces of fried chicken.”

 

Thank Fuck that Leonard was a Southern man. He’d asked him to program their only replicator with anything and everything that he recommended that they eat, especially for David. However, he was a little miffed that some of his favorites were missing. Worse, all of his favorites that were programmed required a special code.

 

Leonard’s code.

 

It hadn’t stopped him. He’d figured out the special code. Old habits die hard. Still, he’d never used it. Not really, anyway. The thing was, his sleepwalking self had used it.

 

Now he religiously checked the replicator every morning, making sure to erase his late night binges. Once, however, he’d forgotten. He wasn’t sure if Leonard had caught it, but he hadn’t said anything to him. Maybe he hadn’t checked that day.

 

_Feed them_

 

Jim frowned. Didn’t Kat’s older brother like fried chicken, too?

 

“Computer, cancel order. Make that four pieces of fried chicken.”

 

Every few weeks, it came. Like a Gagorian eel, slipping under the door in the night and latching onto its victim with one harsh sweep of its tail, where its jaws hid. It was a blow to his mind that he couldn't anticipate except for the fact that it would never ever go away.

 

He shifted uneasily on his feet, the taste of chocolate cake on his tongue mixing with macaroni and cheese and…

 

He looked down at his other hand, which now held...five slices of vegetarian pizza? That wasn’t his normal fare. How'd that get there? Was that for Liam?

 

Or for him?

 

His mouth salivated, his mind working overtime.

 

_Feed them_

 

He’d eat the pizza, too, as soon as he found an egg. Did the replicator have eggs?

 

Eggs were rare. Most of the chickens had died. An egg meant you were king.

 

Sweat slipped from his brow and into his eye. He used his shoulder to wipe it away. “Computer,” he said hoarsely. “One hard boiled egg.”

 

He wouldn’t be greedy. If you had an egg—just one—you were rich. You were healthier than the others. You were safe. You were a friend to Ko—

 

He choked on his words.

 

He’d had an egg once. Maybe twice.

 

Maybe even three times.

 

Nausea rolled in his stomach. He shoved the thoughts as far away as possible. Tried, anyway. He wasn’t the boy he’d once been. Years had passed. He wasn’t boy wasn’t the man who stood here now. He was a father. A cadet. He had Dav—

 

He glanced down at the food in his hands.

 

Food for people who no longer existed.

 

For people who were dead.

 

Oh, God.

 

He barely suppressed a cry, as the absurdity of his actions washed over him in constant waves of shame and guilt. He felt himself drowning in a horror of his own making. He wanted to fail and pound his fists on the door, but there was no doubt. No escaping this.

 

Never escaping this.

 

Kodos had been right. Fuck, he'd been right.

 

_Daddy?_

 

He nearly slammed his head in the replicator, twisting his body around to see if David had found him.

 

He saw no one in the doorway. Jesus, fucking no one.

 

His three-year-old son was still asleep. _Asleep_.

 

And his father…his father a mess.

 

Tears sprung to his eyes, painful tears that threatened to spill over. God, no. He hadn’t...he hadn’t done this again, had he? He was smarter than this. A genius. He was Jim fucking Kirk.

 

But Katya was dead. She didn’t need a chicken.

 

Her older brother was dead. He didn't need one, either.

 

Liam was dead.

 

Josh.

 

Dead.

 

Etheline.

 

Dead.

 

K’Eeve.

 

T’Pira.

 

Uritch.

 

Dead. Dead. Dead.

 

All the others, names that dusted every memory he had of Tarsus... _dead_.

 

His ears roared, the steady thump of his heart announcing his own death sentence.

 

_Feed them_

 

He'd been preparing food for his survivors. His kids.

 

Other children who'd eventually starved to death.

 

Death had been inevitable. If not of body, then of mind.

 

Eight children had survived a little longer because of him—but where they were now he had no idea. Except, they weren't here. Just like the others. He was standing by the replicator. Alone and...and hungry.

 

Fuck it all, he wanted to go back to bed. But he had to do this for them, didn't he? It was up to him. He was the protector, the scavenger, their cap—

 

_Feed them_

 

He hugged the food to his chest, his breaths coming out in panicked, pathetic waves as his shame and guilt trapped him in a vise.

 

This wasn’t what normal people did, was it?

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the tears back as the smell of food assaulted him. What was he even doing?

 

Ordering food? Why was he ordering food for them if they were fucking dead?

 

He could only blame so much on sleepwalking. He was screwed up in the head. Maybe truly crazy. If Spock knew. Leonard. The social worker. If Pike knew...

 

If they only knew who he really was, that this happened often, twisting his thoughts, damaging his psyche, would they declare him unfit? Take David away?

 

Seeing the situation more clearly, he stepped away from the replicator. From the fridge. From anything that stored food or could make food for him or anyone, dead or otherwise.

 

_Feed them_

 

This food. No matter how much he’d already eaten, he couldn't waste this. He couldn't dump this in the...in the receptacle. He couldn't throw it away. He couldn't. He wasn’t wasteful.

 

He, of all people, knew how fucking important food was. He knew, and he’d die before he’d waste it.

 

He took a large bite of the pizza, hardly savoring the taste now. He had to hurry, before anyone saw him. Before David woke up.

 

He couldn't throw it away. He couldn't store it in the fridge for later.

 

Leonard would see it.

 

He took another bite, chewing and swallowing an even bigger piece. That would be wasteful, he repeated to himself. He had to eat it, because they’re not here to eat it. They're not here and—

 

The door to his small apartment opened. A shift in his world that caused a sharp and unexpected imbalance.

 

He froze. Leonard had come home early?

 

That wasn’t supposed to have happened.

 

Leonard was home. There were signs. Fucking signs all over the place.

 

His heart thudded in his ears—but he heard him. His footsteps. His sigh. He felt him, too. The familiar tingle traveling down his spine whenever Leonard was in the same room with him.

 

At least he hadn't flushed beet red, which happened far too often when he was next to the doctor who turned heads everywhere he went.

 

He imagined pounding his head with his fists, finally knocking some sense into it. No, no. Leonard couldn’t be here. His shift wasn’t over.

 

He’d double checked Leonard’s schedule. Triple checked it before he’d gone to bed.

 

“Jim?”

 

He choked the next bite down, standing still and tense. The pizza sauce and the grease from the fried chicken rubbed against his chest.

 

Would this nightmare ever end?

 

Come on, Kirk. Wake the fuck up up. You're normal. You're sane.

 

You haven't just eaten food that you'd replicated for dead people.

 

“Is that you?”

 

Leonard couldn't possibly be here—

 

“Jim? What are you doing up?” Leonard said quietly from behind him.

 

He froze again, holding his treasures as close to himself as he could, like he would have on Tarsus. Like someone was about to kill him over it.

 

Leonard wouldn’t, would he?

 

“No reason,” he said, voice pitched higher than normal. “You're home early.”

 

Leonard sighed, the sound of a bag hitting the floor, with a thud shortly following. “Needed to put some more time on my own studies. But first, some sleep.”

 

“Don't forget, David will go to the daycare center at noon,” he said shakily.

 

 _Please don’t come in here,_ he pleaded silently. _Please don't Please don’t Please—_

 

“I’ll take him as planned. Can’t wait to see his little face light up again when he sees his friends.”

 

Jim sucked in a breath. “Yeah.”

 

Leonard hesitated behind him. “Jim, you’re awful quiet. You sure everything is al—”

 

Leonard’s voice diminished to nothing as he came beside him, staring with surprise at the large amount of food Jim had replicated and then at Jim.

 

Ashamed and unwilling to see if he’d already condemned him, he squeezed his eyes shut.

 

Fuck his life.

 

“Jim?” Leonard asked quietly. “Is there something wrong?”

 

The memory of the new syllabus for his Federation History class, the words History of Tarsus IV, caused the food to slip from his hands.

 

His plates shattered, splattering food across the floor, making an even bigger mess than he would have thought possible.

 

The mess was too much. Wasteful. When he really wasn't a man who wasted things. He was here, wasn’t he? At the Academy, a father, no less. He wasn't a boy who wasted foo—

 

He dropped to his knees with a cry, frantically grabbing whatever food he could.

 

_Feed them_

 

“Jim,” came an urgent whisper above him.

 

He bit off a chunk of chicken, pushed the other hands away.

 

_Feed them_

 

Grabbed the other piece of chicken before anyone else could.

 

_Feed them_

 

A piece of pizza was next.

 

“Jim, it's okay—”

 

He stuffed pizza in his mouth, too, the sound of his chewing drowning out his new roommate's concern. The sense of relief that he felt with more food in his hands—and in his aching stomach—blocked out the touch of gentle hands guiding him to sit on the floor and rest against a solid chest.

 

Couldn't waste it.

 

_Feed them_

 

There was no other food than this.

 

None.

 

He hugged it all to his naked chest.

 

Weeping.

 

 _Sinking_.

 

“Jim—”

 

He had to eat it.

 

He had to eat.

 

He had to.

 

_Had to._

 

_Had._

_To._


End file.
